Solitude
by GreenEyeObsession
Summary: She believes in everything: the wildest things, the craziest things. And you know it’s not really true, not real, but you are fascinated by the way she is so involved, so into her beliefs, and you want a part of that. A hold onto what isn’t real.
1. Ginny

_How many times have you told me you love her?  
...As many times as I've wanted to tell you the truth.  
How long have I stood here beside you?  
I lived through you;  
you looked through me.  
  
Oh, Solitude.  
Still with me is only you.  
Oh, Solitude.  
I can't stay away from you.  
  
How many times have I done this to myself?  
How long will it take before I see?  
When will this hole in my heart be mended?  
Who now is left alone but me?_

X

X

X

A light snow was falling as I walked out of the Hogwarts entrance hall with Harry. Ron and Hermione walked ahead of us, talking about who knows what, and the way they seemed to shrink in height told me that the snow was already fairly deep. I sucked in air as the cold white stuff immediately filled my boots, and from the similar sound Harry made, I knew the same thing had happened to him. I caught his eye and we laughed.

"Better get a carriage before they fill up," said Harry, and awkwardly we hurried through the knee-deep snow to the nearest empty carriage. Harry climbed in and helped me up, and almost immediately the carriage began to bounce down the road to Hogsmeade. I dried my robes with my wand.

"You reckon Ron and Hermione even knew we were right behind them?" I asked.

Harry laughed. "Probably not. I told him yesterday that the Cannons stink and he just said, 'Okay.' I was surprised he answered me at all."

I couldn't help but giggle. "He's so oblivious. Sometimes I wonder how he made it through his OWLs." The carriage began to slow down and a glance out the window confirmed that we'd arrived at Hogsmeade. Harry jumped out and helped me down, and I wondered when Harry got so gentlemanly. Certainly not from Ron; I could see the carriage in front of us, and Hermione hopped out into the snow, nearly losing her balance in the depth of it all, and Ron jumped out right next to her. Hermione's cloak was already soaked, while mine was only damp around my ankles. I smiled in spite of myself.

All of the shops' roofs were covered with so much snow that the lot of it looked like it would avalanche on the next passer-by at any given second; the look of the people bustling around the village made everything even more magical: Honeydukes had lines in the street, mostly of students, and a steady flow of bodies lead into the Three Broomsticks. All the houses down at the far end of the street looked like gingerbread houses in a fairytale.

"Shall we find a table in the Three Broomsticks?" asked Harry. "We'll need to hurry if we want one." I nodded and together we hurried into the small inn, which was already overcrowded with people, mostly people standing at the bar. I gave Harry a worried glance as we looked around. Then, miraculously, I spotted a table receiving many glares – Ron and Hermione were saving two seats for us.

Nodding our thanks as we sat, Harry and I both started to ask, "How did you know-"

"We always come here," said Hermione simply. "Plus, you two were in the carriage behind us, didn't you know?"

I chanced a glance at Harry; he wasn't looking at me, but was trying and failing to hide a smile. I laughed out loud at that, and Harry shot me a quieting look, obviously too late. Ron and Hermione just looked confused.

_And we'll let it stay that way, _thought I.

Ron and Hermione were once again engaged in conversation, which was unusually quiet and toned-down. Harry was getting up from his seat and asked, "Would you like a butterbeer?"

"Sure," said I, and I watched him walk up to Madame Rosmerta. I tried to shake the thoughts out of my head, though I could not evade them all.

Getting to know Harry had been my first priority for five years, and at first it was usually everything I ever thought about. What was he really like; what did he and Ron do that was so exclusive to me; was he afraid of You-Know-Who; did he ever miss his parents? The last had been almost torture to think about. I could only imagine not having Mum around in the kitchen, or not having Dad tinkering around with plugs. I would cry and Mum wouldn't know what to do about these random outbursts. Yes, that year at home without Ron, Harry was all I thought about. A whole ten months of wondering how on earth Harry got by without parents.

Now I knew. Harry lived never for himself, but for everyone else. It was his shoulders on which he laid everyone else's burdens. He made his friends' problems his own. He hated being famous, and hated the _Daily Prophet _after what it had said about him for the last two years. He didn't admit to his 'hero-complex,' Hermione's description that is very true; he didn't like to be reminded of the reason Voldemort had led him to supposedly save his godfather. This year he didn't want anyone to know that he had limits and had a life that should be normal like everyone else's, because that's just not Harry, according to Harry.

I had crept into Harry's life as subtly as I could. I had truthfully gotten over my crush of four years, but that had nothing to do with becoming his friend. I appreciated small moments that we could talk, that I could slyly tell him that I cared, as did everyone else. I made him realize that he wasn't the only one to have suffered Voldemort's wrath; that I could relate. And slowly that had worked. Then the horrible things I had seen at the Department of Mysteries - the things that had forced me to put into practice several months' worth of DA meetings - that had been something I would rather have skipped; would rather not have endured. But that summer, it wasn't so bad sending letters to Harry, receiving letters from Harry, and really cracking the code on his 'hero-complex.' Yes, Harry takes all of the blame, for _everything,_ especially Sirius's death.

Looking up from my thoughts, I realized Harry hadn't returned with the drinks. I looked toward the bar and saw him standing there, talking to Madam Rosmerta and Luna Lovegood. Two very good people, but I was beginning to feel thirsty, and bored with sitting by Ron and Hermione in their current state of 'we're-alone-together-in-the-world.' Not wanting to stare, I pretended I was listening to the conversation nearest me, and, unfortunately, while doing so I actually did catch bits of it. After about ten seconds, I tried to close my ears.

Suddenly Harry was by my side with only one foaming mug of butterbeer, and before I could ask any questions, he said, "I'm going to have a walk with Luna, is that all right?"

"Of course it's all right," said I, smiling, before my heart could tell me to say otherwise. "Go ahead."

Harry's face - Harry's wonderful face - lit up; his cheeks were flushed with gratitude; his brilliant smile practically blinded me in its wake. I knew what it was like to wear that smile, and knew what was going on behind it. My stomach nearly dropped out of me, and I tried to keep my mouth closed.

"Thanks, Gin," said Harry, his voice only cracking a little. Was it from raw emotion? "I'll find you later." And he walked away. I let him walk away. _He walked away, and I let it happen._

I sipped my butterbeer, and for the first time, it did not warm me up. I was ice cold; cold-hearted, selfish, jealous. I nearly spat it out, but managed self-control at the last second. Leaving my butterbeer on the table, I got up to leave. Neither Ron nor Hermione looked up.

Hogwarts students milled around the shops, cheeks raw with the bite of the December chill. Harry and Luna, thankfully, were already out of sight. I wrapped my scarf around my neck and ears and tightened my cloak, and set off for Honeydukes. Sweets, I thought, would cheer me up from my sudden revelation.

The chocolate tasted like dirt, the Sugar Quills like salt, and the toffee like sand. My mouth was all gritty now, and I wished I still had my butterbeer.

My eye caught Zonko's Joke Shop, and immediately I looked away. For one thing, I missed Fred and George now more than ever, what without their usual mayhem in the common room as Christmas approached. For another, Harry and Luna were walking right past it. I tried in vain to hide my red hair, but the wind spilled it out over my shoulders subsequent to each new attempt. Instead I sought shelter in the Post Office, watching through the window until the two were out of sight.

Harry didn't show up for dinner that evening. Ron and Hermione were worried, and kept asking me where he was. Annoying as this was, I was worried, too, for more than one reason. I hadn't seen him in the common room when I'd got back (early, for lack of things to do in Hogsmeade) and I hadn't seen Luna anywhere either.

Late that night, I was alone in the common room, and the fire was burning low. I still had a Potions essay that I wanted to finish before the holiday, so in order to complete this goal it had to be done tonight. Just as I was looking up the properties of moonstone, I heard a disturbance in the direction of the portrait hole. I turned around in my seat on an armchair, and jumped up when I realized it was Harry.

"Where have you been?" I asked exasperatedly.

"What?" said Harry, and it seemed he'd just realized I was there.

"I said, 'Where have you been?' You missed dinner; Ron and Hermione were worried, and I had nothing to tell them."

Harry looked around as if for some sort of escape. Then he looked at me, and I stared straight at him, so piercingly, I expect, that he had no choice but to make it a mutual eye contact. He cleared his throat. "Well, I... Ginny, you sound a lot like your mother."

"I ought to right now; no one's known where you've been for the last several hours! Which reminds me," I said sarcastically, "Where _have you been?"_

Harry mumbled something.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," I said, a little too scathingly.

"I've been with Luna, alright?" said Harry; his face was bright red, and I felt my face go pale. There had to be a reason for him to be embarrassed. "We were just talking, and... well, she gets me."

I froze. "What d'you mean she _gets _you?"

"Like... I dunno, I see all this weird stuff, and she knows what it means. We have... things in common, I guess." Harry's colouring could've rivalled my brother's when embarrassed.

"Weird stuff?" I said, lost for anything else to say.

"Yeah," said Harry vaguely. "She could see the thestrals-"

"Well Harry, that's not really weird stuff, some people _do-"_

"I know! But the beginning of fifth year, I didn't know what it meant, and I thought I was crazy 'cause 'Loony Lovegood' was the only other one that could see them. Then there was the... the veil." At this point, Harry was staring at the ground, fists clenched. My hardened features lost their stony appearance, and I neared him. "Harry, I heard them too..."

"Yeah, but do you know what it means, what's behind there?"

"No," I admitted quietly.

"I didn't either. But Luna does."

"Did she tell you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what did she tell you?"

Harry looked at me, and I saw sadness. I knew right then I wouldn't get an answer. I knelt, my back to him, and started packing up my things.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, I just can't-"

"It's okay, Harry," I said, and my steady voice nearly failed me. "It's between you and Luna; I understand."

Harry appeared in my peripheral vision, and he knelt down beside me. The fire was almost completely dead, and the shadows on Harry's face made him look quite eerie.

"It's more than that, Ginny," he whispered.

I dropped my ink bottle and it smashed. Harry muttered, _"Scourgify," _and put his wand back into his robes. It was uncomfortably silent for a while after that, and as I debated whether or not to move, Harry spoke again.

"I think I like Luna more than a friend, Ginny," said Harry, and if we hadn't been alone I probably wouldn't have heard him. "I've never felt like this before."

I thought my chest would heave with heartbreak, but it didn't betray me. I just felt my eyes burn, and knew that they would be the traitors. My voice, I didn't want to think about.

"Say something, Ginny," Harry begged, and he brought a leg up under him. I still hadn't moved for the last minute. "This is getting, er... awkward."

"You're telling me," I said, and, obviously too late, I realized I had spoken aloud. My cheek burned (crimson, no doubt) and I felt Harry shift again. Before I knew it he was right in front of me, gripping my arms just beneath my shoulders and looking into my eyes, over which I had lost control and which were now looking back at him, threatening tears. Lucky it's dim in here, I had thought.

Then he said the absolute wrong thing, the thing that ruined it all: my deceptiveness, my concealing.

"I'm really glad we're friends, Gin. I knew you'd understand."

Every muscle in my body contracted, and Harry released his grip suddenly. "Understand?" I repeated. I backed away. "Did I speak without realizing it? No, I don't think I did; I never said I understood, Harry. I don't understand you at all. It's Luna? And you think you love her because she has the answers you want?" Harry stuttered, and I laughed bitterly. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks; I rose and Harry copied my movements.

"Love isn't about getting answers, Harry; it's not just about things you have in common. It's about caring for another person so much," –my voice was rising steadily- "that you want to hold them when they're sad, and smile when they laugh, and dance when they're happy; you want to understand them so much that you end up knowing nothing at all; you don't care where they've been or what they've done, but _who they are_ and how they treat other people." I was breathing very hard, and pacing from the hearth, whose fire was nearly dead, to the armchair, which almost half an hour ago had held my calm figure.

Harry stared. "I'm not using her, if that's what you think," he said, and by the tremor in his voice I knew he was angry. At that point, I could care less.

"Oh but what am I supposed to think, Harry? You _just _said she has answers to your questions, weird things in common with you; aren't those just the surface? Do you even really _know _her?"

"Of course I know her, I spent the whole day with her!" protested Harry.

"Which reminds me," I said through clenched teeth. "You left me to hang out with Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird; let's think how that went...? Yeah, everywhere I went, nothing felt right. I saw you and Luna by the shops and I hid in the post office. I left Hogsmeade early because I figured _homework_ would give me something better to do. That must've been the first time I chose homework over freedom." The phrase itself didn't mean much, but my tone drained the colour from Harry's face.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't!" I half shouted. "It's only when there's a hunch nagging at your brain that you think, isn't it, Harry? Not when something so _bloody _obvious is right in front of your face!"

Harry's face looked as blank as the average History of Magic student. "What are you talking about?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "Last year, Hermione... She said you didn't... Ginny, I thought we were just friends."

"Harry," I said, my voice and lip trembling, new tears flowing over dried ones. "I could never be just your friend," I whispered, and to my own ears I sounded insane; and before my mind could make a better judgment, I stepped forward and kissed him.

It would have been wonderful, if it hadn't been for the fact that Harry had basically told me ten minutes ago that he was in love with Luna. The thought of another's lips on the ones to which I was now owned made me sob into Harry's mouth and back away. I hastily wiped away the tell-all tears obscuring my vision, and made to pick up my bag of school books. But I was prevented from doing so when Harry placed himself between me and my destination. I vaguely remember telling him to move; him refusing; me begging him to let me pass.

"I can't let you go now," he said, and the first meaning that came to mind broke my heart all over again. He just wanted to take care of this so it didn't hang over into tomorrow; not what my heart naturally wanted to feel.

"I'm afraid I don't understand any of this," he confessed, shaking his head to prove his point. He sat me down on a sofa, and we were so close that I forced myself to scoot down to the end.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that," I retorted.

"It wasn't a question."

I almost smiled. Almost.

"Ginny, you have to talk to me," Harry pleaded. "This past year I thought you were... well, over me..." –his voice faltered slightly- "And we got to be really good friends, and I appreciated that, what with Ron and Hermione... you know."

I remained silent. I wasn't going to willingly express my emotions that had kept me feeling solitary every time I got to know Harry better. That would make it too easy; though I couldn't count on self-control for too much longer.

"Ginny," Harry prompted.

And I lost it.

"Oh Harry, are you really that daft? Can't you see? All along it was me! I've loved you since I first set eyes on you; since I was eleven years old! I kept waiting; hoping that I had it wrong; hoped that you weren't so blind to my love. But you saw right through me, didn't you? That's how Tom Riddle nearly led me to my death, isn't it? You and Ron were so involved that you missed the solution, the answer - that which you so desperately sought - and it was right in front of you. _I _was right in front of you. Then summer before last you thought you were rid of me. Great, you thought, that little girl doesn't have a bloody crush on me anymore. She doesn't bloody _care _so much anymore. But you were so wrong, Harry – I cared even _more. _I cared so much that all I wanted to do was get to know you, and the only way to do that was talk to you. Yeah, I started dating, and that helped me get over the silent, nervous convulsions I went into at the sight of you, at the sound of your voice. I was subtle, yes, and evidently that's worked. And now that I'm so bloody jealous of Luna, I've told you everything. I've given you the answers, just like you always need. And I hope you're satisfied, 'cause that's all you're going to get."

I walked. Ignored the pleading; just walked. Ignored the last minute apologies; only the sound of my feet hitting the stairs and my heart beating in my ears kept me tuned out. Silent tears flowed, the dreaded reminder of my never-ending solitude.

X

X

X

_Oh, Solitude.  
Forever me and forever you.  
Oh, Solitude.  
Only you, only true.  
  
Everyone leaves me stranded;  
Forgotten, abandoned, left behind.  
I can't stay here another night._

"_Your secret admirer."  
Who could it be?_

__

At last, a post. I'm working on the next one for the Old Lot, so have no fear. I'd been wanting to finish this one for a while, though, and I opened it up today and realised I had finished! Hurrah, I am happy. Mostly because I _know _everyone is going to be so bloody eager to review... -.-


	2. Harry

She believes in everything: the wildest things, the craziest things. And you know it's not really true, not real, but you are fascinated by the way she is so involved, so into her beliefs, and you want a part of that. A hold onto what isn't real.

Luna Lovegood. How long I've had to study that name. The name Luna makes one think of the moon. Love-good. Love-well. _The moon loves well? The moon loves her well? She loves the moon?_

I'd never share that personal bit of information with anyone. Who studies a person's name, anyway? It would make me look like a creepy stalker. I'm not a stalker.

But there's something about her that draws me in; makes me think less; want to know more. Her eyes, wide and surprised: they take everything in the world for what it is, and perhaps what it isn't. Again, she believes in everything. It's who she is.

Does she believe in me? Does she analyze my name? Does she take in everything about me? About everyone?

I had thought about what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I thought about it a lot. I thought about Sirius when things got too happy, or too quiet. I remembered my role in his death.

I also remember what Luna said to me the day of the feast.

_"In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them."_

I had heard them. Though who "they" was, I wasn't too sure. I had thought... But no, that's impossible. And Loony Lovegood believed it.

But what else could Ibelieve?

I thought about her off and on that summer. She sent me the occasional letter, and they were always the most interesting ones I got. About her excursions with her father in Sweden, and how they'd discovered Crumple-Horned Snorkack tracks in the mountains. Every letter, without realizing it, was waited for with ample anticipation. Subconsciously, I wanted the answer.

Luna met me at the bar. I'd been talking to Madam Rosmerta; she'd been telling me about how "all of us students grow up so fast." I hadn't seen Luna coming, feeling awkward and concentrated on talking to the attractive barkeep.

"Harry, how are you?" Her voice had caught me by surprise, and she and Madam Rosmerta laughed at my jumping.

"I- I'm fine," I said weakly, and I felt my cheeks burn. The wide eyes staring back at me, oddly misty, gave me a creepy feeling down my spine. She smiled, not one to be pretty, but one of knowledge. Her seeming superiority began to make me feel uneasy.

"Shall we have a walk?" she asked.

I almost said yes, but then I remembered I'd come up to the bar in the first place to order drinks for me and Ginny, who was waiting at a table with Ron and Hermione. "Hold on a second," I said, and I got Ginny's drink.

Carrying it back, I noticed Ginny looked extremely bored, and I was afraid she wouldn't approve of me leaving her alone. But I asked her, and she said yes, that it was all right. Her smile was so sincere, that I did not notice the absence of that smile in her eyes. My own were glazing over with excitement and appreciation and I couldn't help myself: I must've looked extremely foolish grinning like that.

Luna and I walked out together to face the bitter cold atmosphere of the December month. We tried to talk, but the wind swallowed our words and carried them off, never to be heard by the other. A few laughs later we decided it would be best to find shelter, and as we were just passing the joke shop, it seemed that it would best serve our purpose.

Inside, it was warm with the light of lanterns floating high among the rafters and the heat radiating from so many bodies of visiting students. Briefly I thought of Fred's and George's absences, which in turn caused a sigh to escape my lips. Luna looked at me calmly, and didn't say anything; it disturbed me greatly.

After a good half hour of browsing, and having spent several moments wondering if my life was in jeopardy, Luna and I left the shop, each of us with a small bag of items. It seemed the wintry weather would be lingering for a while; a fresh layer of snow was accumulating atop the frozen layer leftover from the night previous.

We walked in silence, aimlessly, long enough for the flurry to dot my cloak with white all over, and to melt gently into Luna's long blond hair. Occasionally I was brave enough to steal glances in her direction, but she would always sense it and I had to pretend to be watching the Shrieking Shack as we neared it. We came to a large, flat rock on the very edge of the house's property, and with my wand I melted the ice so that we could sit.

"This is my favorite time of year," said Luna. She was gazing around her, eyes darting back and forth as if to watch every snowflake hit the ground. Her eyes were wider than ever, and a tender smile was resting on her lips; her breath froze as it met the frosty air.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well, Christmas is quite exciting – I get to visit Dad and we have loads of fun together. But mostly it's the snow. It reminds me of people, in the way that no one is like another. And though there are a lot of people in this world, there are many more snowflakes, and so I think of the history of man; everyone who has - gone on - well, I believe they left their mark on this earth, each one of them, but through snowflakes they're all here. Each individual, each soul, each life."

This was beyond the depth of my being. It was so beautiful, and it was so hard to grasp. How could someone think of something like that?

Then another thing crossed my mind: the veil.

"Luna... d'you remember what you said to me, at the end of last term?"

"Yes." She didn't continue, so I did.

"Well, er, I still don't quite understand what you meant. I don't know if you were speaking metaphorically or if..." There was no 'if.'

Luna stared at me for a long time, and then smiled. It was so brilliant, and I almost forgot to wonder why she was happy all of the sudden.

"Harry, you do understand, you just don't think you do."

That definitely wasn't the answer I was looking for.

"What d'you mean? How could I understand without realizing it? It doesn't make any sense."

"It does make sense. Your mind is closed off, and it doesn't want to believe something so far-fetched."

"I can't just believe everything like you do."

"You don't have to. I'm only asking that you try to understand _this_."

I stood up without really thinking. She was still looking at me, calm and with that 'I know you know I know,' look. I felt lust ebb away and anger and frustration took its place.

"You're not making any sense!" I said. "I am trying to understand, but it's just not possible. The real problem is that my mind _can't_ close itself off, you know. That's how everything went so horribly wrong last summer. That's how I screwed up and... and he died because of it." I hated the way my eyes burned then and wished to just cut them out. I hated how I was getting angry at Luna. And I couldn't do anything about it.

"It's not your fault you couldn't do Occlumency, Harry-"

Overlooking the question of how she knew about my Occlumency lessons, I interrupted. "But it _is_ my fault, Luna! It was too hard, and I hated it; I hated Snape! I still do! I could've done it if I'd tried, but I didn't. I even lied to Hermione when she asked if I getting on with it all right! I wasn't getting on all right, and I didn't care, because who cares what's best for everyone else? Who cares if Lord Voldemort is sending subliminal messages to me in my dreams, and it's all fake, all a great big joke? All _I_ wanted to do was find out _what_ was beyond that corridor, beyond the door, in that room with all the light. And now he's dead. Sirius. Is. Dead."

The calm was still there, but the happy smile was gone. She frowned, and it was the so sad to watch that I backed off immediately.

Embarrassed, I sat back down on the rock. I didn't dare look at her; I was too nervous to find out if she was sad, angry, or just disappointed. Then she moved and a reflex made me look up. God, I was so weak.

She touched my face. The sadness radiating from her eyes made me want to sob. Her hands moved from my forehead, to my nose, then parted to touch my cheeks. Soon she had my face cupped under my chin with her hands, and her eyes closed. I thought a tear leak from a corner, but I blinked and it wasn't there. When she spoke I shuddered and my face was free.

"I know it's there, Harry, you have it in you. I have faith that you will see it. I have faith in _you_."

I paused for only a moment. Then I kissed her.

She was startled, and I almost pulled away when she leaned into it. It was so random; I have no idea what made me do it. Didn't know I'd had it in me.

When we broke apart, we were breathless. Luna's eyes were glittering, and my ragged breathing was in irregular rhythm with hers. But she wasn't smiling. I thought I'd done something wrong and began to apologize, but the 'sorry' never left my lips. She made the move this time.

The rest of the night was a blur; walking around till dusk, and hurrying together to catch the last carriage back to Hogwarts. When we got there, I wasn't hungry; she said she didn't mind skipping. We sat in an empty classroom, in sweet silence, together. Both of us were new to this: when first we sat, there was a good few inches between us on the cold stone floor. Slowly, we dared to move closer. She moved her hand close to mine - I took it. She leaned her head on my shoulder – I put my arm around her. Soon we were so close, so warm, and so comfortable, that I never wanted to leave this – this love, something I felt I had rarely experienced at all during my life.

But as I've often had to learn the hard way, all good things must come to an end. Luna and I tiptoed to the entrance hall, and came to a staircase that I assumed led to the Ravenclaw common room. The whole castle was silent, and a look at my new wrist-watch told me it was past eleven-o'clock.

I looked at her for what seemed a long time. We kissed goodnight, and when her hand left mine, it left it feeling cold. She didn't completely smile; I saw her eyes smile, but not her mouth. And that was enough to make me grin like an idiot.

She was on my mind all the way back to Gryffindor tower. I almost ran into the portrait of the Fat Lady ("Excuse me!") and more or less stumbled through. The common room appeared empty, and the fire was good as dead.

"Where have you been?"

I jumped slightly, and met Ginny Weasley's eyes; she looked anything but happy to see me.

Not as good as how this story began, but it was necessary for me to get my taste of Harry and Luna. I felt like I was always on the edge of creating something too fluffy, which is really not my scene, but I think it turned out all right. I'm really afraid to post this, for I fear it'll take away from the first chapter, which I absolutely love. I think it's the best thing I've written for fan fiction, in my opinion. It was so... fulfilling to write it, and played out my thoughts on what I want to happen. But enough of my bragging; I'll leave you with the idea that there will hopefully be another chapter to this, if not two.

Love, alex


	3. Luna

A/N: Okay, I don't like making author's notes at the beginning, but here goes. There was a discrepancy over what 'ship' this fic is. Well, it's both Harry/Ginny and Harry/Luna, obviously. Not to be mean to 'Jag glittrar,' but if you like the fic itself, then... what's the problem? Yeah, I can see where you're coming from, but I think the wrong question to ask is 'Which one?' It'd make more sense to ask 'How's it gonna end up?' which quite frankly I'm not going to flat out tell you here. Anyhow, with that little tangent out of the way (I am quite anal about the way people say things- get used to it and don't take it personally) I'm going to say only this much: I am what you would call a Harry/Ginny 'shipper,' but it became boring creating ideas of how Harry and Ginny will come to their senses, fall in love blah blah blah. Whatever happened to the old love triangle? It's much more interesting this way, and I always wondered what it would be like to read/write a Harry/Luna. But unfortunately the first (and last) one of those I read was completely appalling, and Luna was absolutely wrong, and it just set the standard to me that everyone who likes the idea of Harry/Luna is gonna turn Luna into some love-crazy girl (right, don't use her name to back that up) and have her be some bitch that steals Harry away from Ginny and she's all like 'Ha-ha, I got him first,' and then Harry's all stupid and forgets Ginny altogether!

Have I quite scared you enough? Good, on with the story then, if you _don't _mind.

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I am quite different from other people. They invent names to better describe my personality as they see it, and take my things because it must be _quite_ amusing. But in the end, it is they who waste their time with such foolish things and at the same time become blind to the world around them; to the love, the beauty, the wonder. If you refuse to believe in anything, based on what others believe, where will it stop? When will anything ever seem possible to you, whether it's a career path goal or a relationship? I chose to believe in what I want, and I hope to believe in anything that may be fantastic, phenomenal, or just plain difficult for the human mind to understand.

My mother and father were very much in love; they shared beliefs, and also the capacity to want knowledge. Mum had her experimental spelling and Dad his magazine. Mum always got angry if she caught me looking in on her make-shift laboratory (our guest bedroom), but I couldn't help but wonder what it was that she did. I suppose I realized then that I had inherited this certain 'curiosity trait.'

I could watch for hours, which was usually what it took for Mum to come to some conclusion. Her wand waving held so much majesty in my eyes that I set out to study her moves, her facial features that held so much passion. And so I became more engrossed with the process that I overlooked the technique, and the purpose.

That fatal day, I was in amazing wonder as always, and my mother looked so beautiful, just so beautiful. But then I realized something was odd, something was very wrong. She lost the passion in her eyes – they were blank and hypnotized. I had no idea what was happening, and was so scared and confused that I forgot to yell for help.

She was walking in a robotic, surreal way, towards some old curtains hanging in front of a bureau-closet in the far corner of the room. Her arms were limp at her sides, and her wand fell from her hand as she raised it up towards the tattered black cloth. I was screaming inside, but nothing came out as I gasped and panted, pointing in awe. I should have wondered why I was not drawn to the cloth as she was, but I was simply not concerned with my well-being at the moment.

Her hand finally caressed the cloth, and I held my breath without real reason to. She went deathly still, and I do not use that term lightly right now. I knew then, deep in my heart, that my mother was dead. It was just a feeling, and I knew it wouldn't betray me. She was gone.

Mum didn't fall right away; she stayed erect, motionless and seemingly defying gravity. But then she collapsed into herself, away from the bureau, and gracefully reduced to a disheveled pile on the floor. I screamed, and ran to her, obviously too late. My tears stained my cheeks as equally as they did hers, and I held onto her for dear life.

I felt Dad's presence, and he didn't try to pluck me off of my dead mother's body, nor did he join me in this drastic and desperate form of mourning. He stood patiently and calmly behind me, and I felt his shadow protect me in some sort of way. I don't know if he cried; my own tears blinded me so that my vision wasn't too good, but I didn't hear him sob, or cry out. Just silence. This comforted me in a way that I couldn't point out then, but if he were to have behaved as I did, I feel I never would have recovered.

After that, I gave my free time and interest to always seeing what no one else would probably see; what no one else ever cared to look for. First, it would just be finding a solution to an every day problem: how should tie up my hair today? Some days Dad just laughed when I came down for breakfast, for I never let my inventions put me to shame. One memorable hairdo was the time I tried to balance a flower pot, complete with daisy, on my head and build my hair up around it to keep it in place. Needless to say, there was a bit of a cleanup after that escapade.

Eventually I took it farther, especially after I started school. Dad had his magazine, and when we'd have a visitor come for an interview (Dad used to interview all his clients personally, but it got so popular he had to hire others to help; it blossomed from there) I would hang on to every word, oftentimes taking notes. I started keeping a journal of all the things I'd heard: all the rumors, and the new magical discoveries. I didn't consider any of these things a rumor, however, for my young mind was open to anything and everything so much that all of it was the truth in some way. Eventually I learned to accept everything for what it _could _be, for it is a dangerous thing to believe everything anyone tells you.

When school began to take up most of my time, my amazing open-mindedness extended to people. And these were the most fascinating subjects of all.

Soon it wasn't just open-mindedness. I could judge people quickly, and not by their appearance but really I got a sense of who they really are. I wasn't a Seer or anything, it was just a sense. But in sharing these thoughts, I began to lose the few friends I had. Nothing too harsh, just they would drift away, and I can't blame them. How many times was it that I seemed to have my head in the clouds? Too often to want to admit it. And once they were 'free of me,' I suppose, that's when the rumors spread. How weird I was. My name evolved from 'Luna,' the name my mother always said she loved so much, to 'Loony.' It broke my heart, and second year was really rough on me.

I had to summon the strength to be like my mother to get through this time in my life. Mum wouldn't care what anyone else thought – this I knew. But somehow I couldn't put forth that strength; how could she have made that look so easy? My father loved her, and she was beautiful. She had no problems with the way she looked. Me: I had straggly blond hair that was much longer than anyone else's, my eyes were too big, my nose looked funny on my face, something. And I was smart. They made fun of me for that too. (What's wrong with being smart?)

It was so hard, and she wasn't there to encourage me; to tell me that indeed she was just like me when she was my age: sort of awkward and skinny. She never had the chance to tell me how she blossomed into a beautiful young woman by her seventh year. All I could think, later on, was how much this would have helped me.

Then the most amazing thing happened, that would turn out to bring me out of my hole. It was so sudden, so seemingly insignificant, that any other day I'm sure I never would have noticed it. It was a Saturday morning; all the girls in my year had gone on down to breakfast already. The sun had woken me up, and was shining in the window next to my four-poster, right in my eyes. Momentarily blinded, I blinked several times. One of the times the glare on my eyes caused an odd picture to appear on the window. It was not discernible at the moment, but it had some distinct shape. Recovered, I kneeled by the window and rested my arms on the sill. Just outside the glass, I noticed, was a tiny caterpillar. It made me smile; it was just so small and carefree, inching along the side of the castle on some unknown mission. I touched its underside through the glass and, without meaning to, caused it to lose its grip and it fell. Just like that.

It made me unnaturally sad. For heaven's sake, it was only a caterpillar; barely a centimeter long; too small to matter.

Unexpectedly this transformed rapidly into a metaphor to my own life. It sounds cheesy, but suddenly I was the caterpillar, and the finger tapping on the window was the whole wide world poking me, taunting me, seeing if I would react. And if I didn't stop it, I would fall, hard. There would be no going back.

I thought about the picture in my eyes just minutes earlier. I laughed out loud at my stupid analogies, but nevertheless it occurred to me that it had indeed been a butterfly. That's all it was going to take. If I could be immune to the world, the curious and destructive finger, then I could make my own transformation and fly. I laughed hard all morning about how insane it all sounded, but deep inside I was so happy to be done being sad and without hope.

Needless to say, people still take my things, still call me 'Loony,' and that's just fine because really they're the ones who aren't sure of themselves, and can only resort to making me feel bad instead of them.

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Today I spent the whole day with Harry. We had a lot of fun at Hogsmeade; it was snowing so much, and I absolutely love snow. It's where the real magic is, I think; especially when someone's there to share the heating cheeks, the secretive glances, and the stuttered speech.

He's so... something. Again, I'll say that I'm _not_ a Seer, but I can feel it around him. Pain. Yearning. Need. And so much love it hurts. So much love, and so much confusion of where to place it. The confusion was very obvious.

And we both needed each other right then. My studies weren't off to the start I had planned to have, what with OWLs coming up this year. That made me nervous all the time when I stayed up late doing essays and practicing charms that I couldn't concentrate on. Harry was so much worse off than I could claim, though. I didn't know all the details, and it wasn't any of my business, but I often sensed something between him and Ginny. Then Cho Chang was trying to get back in touch with him; I noticed her drifting towards the Gryffindor table during meals sometimes. And he didn't seem to be handling his studies much better this year. He'd told me he was stuck in Snape's NEWT level class, and hated every minute of it. He claimed to have no idea why Snape accepted him, but I somehow knew it had to do with McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, and the fact that Harry wanted to be an Auror.

He was being pulled in so many directions. School, Ron and Hermione, Ginny and all the other girls. Me. I know I'm not trying to, but I am. And I do feel drawn to him. He needs to know. He needs to believe and then he can see things so much more clearly. I know it's not so easy for other people to do what I did; change my attitude literally overnight. But he had to try. And I felt I was the only one who could give him that faith.

He kissed me, and I hadn't been expecting it. But it felt so good. He hesitated, but I took it back and it was heaven. We both needed it. I kept telling myself that.

We skipped dinner, and I was grateful for that. I was feeling particularly antisocial, and didn't need to give the student body another reason to stare at the most famous student and weirdest student walking in together. We sat in a corner, and tranquility was ours.

The next day was the cold to our warmth, however. Tension surrounded me, and Harry and Ginny always seemed to pass me simultaneously in the halls. I was the intruder in something I had few ideas about; 'two's company, three's a crowd.' Harry tried to act normally in the library (Hermione was strangely absent) but I could tell something was on his mind. I tried giving him looks, but he ignored them. I didn't want to push, after the deep conversation from yesterday. But if he didn't give in, I would have to pry. I knew something had happened between them after he got back to Gryffindor tower last night, what with the way he stared after her, and she totally blew him off. I was left with nothing else but to think I was in the middle of something, and that wouldn't do anyone any good.

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"Harry, is something bothering you?" Blunt, yes, but I couldn't come right out and say I thought I knew something. It wouldn't start things off right. Ease it out, Luna.

Harry twirled his quill in his hand, and stared at a page in _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,_ his back tense. He was trying to avoid it, take any option but the one with which he was faced. His features relaxed and I knew he'd given in.

"It's Ginny."

And he explained about this big lecture she'd given him the night before. I found myself frozen in time by the end of it, and didn't know what would be right to say. I had known something was there between them, but wasn't sure I should admit; it was all about my wording, and I hoped for the best.

"I think we should end this before it has the chance to start, Harry."

He blinked and started babbling. "No, Luna, that isn't what I meant, I'm just worried, she won't-"

"She will," I assured him. "Listen, Harry," I said, and I took his hands in mine. "I do love you, and that's okay. But I can't give you what you need. I think last night was a sort of... fling, really. Not saying I would ever take it back, I couldn't ever say that, but you and Ginny... you have something. It's rare, and very fortunate nowadays. You became real friends before either of you had time to really sort out your feelings. Both of you... need each other. I don't know how I know this, but somehow I just do. I can feel it."

Harry looked so torn that I had to look away. "There would never be anything more between us, I know you know that," I mumbled feebly.

"I know," Harry whispered. "I just... I don't know what to think right now. The Order's got some information, but there's still so much we don't know..." He gulped, and knew he was nervous about Voldemort. I couldn't really understand, however, why he would bring this up now.

"I'm sorry Luna," said Harry finally.

"For what?"

"I feel like I cheated you; used you."

"You did nothing of the sort, Harry. Really, I needed it as much as you did." I smiled despite myself. "But now, I realize you don't belong with me. Your place is beside Ginny."

Harry laughed unexpectedly, and I looked up.

"You make it sound so final."

I laughed along with him. "Sorry," I said. "This conversation is getting pretty deep, you have to admit."

"Yeah." A few seconds passed. "I don't really like it."

"Okay," I said, glad that we agreed. "Why don't we talk about ways you can mend your relationship with Ginny?"

He looked at me with a sort of hesitant face, but sighed and nodded resignedly. "Yeah. I've no idea what to do."

"Well, it's good we're friends then," I said, and we smiled at each other, happier than I could have hoped for several minutes ago.

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Short and sweet. One more chapter will do to sort things out, eh?

I was going to post this tomorrow, since it would've made all the entries even (Oct. 1st, Oct. 15th, Oct. 30th... yeah I'm a dork) but sadly I'm obsessed with reviews, and hopefully posting this on Friday will allow this to stay on the opening page longer. Most people seem to post on Saturday. So we'll try this.

Love, Alex


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